The Shelter
by iwatchsunsets2
Summary: I've been trapped in this place for a day or two, now. I think it might be a cellar or, more likely, a storm shelter. They killed Johnny- dark eyed, gang's pet, Johnny Cade. I'm starting to lose hope that anyone will ever find me, and it makes me sick; it does, but I should let you know. Johnny is here with me.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, new story.**

**The journal entries are all Ponyboy's.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or the base picture of my story's cover.**

…

_Journal Entry 1_

_ I've been in this place for a day or two now. I think it might be a cellar or, more likely, a storm shelter. I know for a fact that I'm in Windrixville because I heard the Soc's talking about it. I only wish I could have done more than listen. I tried to fight them. I bucked and kicked like a bull, screamed for Soda, Darry, Two-Bit, anybody who would be willing to help me, but there were four of them, and they were all older than me. I only knew two of their names, since they were arguing the entire time they wrangled me into their Mustang and drove me here. _

_Randy was one of them; he wanted them to let me go, maybe just cut me up real good as a warning of what would happen to me if I snitched, obviously more humane than Bob, the one who only cared that his entire future would be down the drain if anyone found out he killed another boy, that he was a murderer, that he cares so much that he was willing to kill me, too, just to keep the story under wraps._

_ He killed Johnny- dark eyed and nervous, gang's pet, Johnny Cade. I wondered often, now, what his parents would do. They seem so evil in my eyes, as they always have; it's hard to believe they'd react any differently to this. I imagined his mother scowling at the gang, telling them what kinds of trouble she believed we always got him into and where they could go for doing so. I imagined his father fuming over the red flag put over their heads for having their son die at sixteen. _

_But, sometimes, I tried to imagine his mom breaking down and apologizing over his grave containing an empty casket, dressed in all black. It was much harder finding a scenario for his dad who never showed remorse for anything he did. Maybe he would just stand there for once, quiet, not angry or violent, maybe even sober, and think about all he did. He deserves any ounce of guilt he feels, if any. In my eyes, he had killed Johnny just as much as Bob had._

_ And I remember right before I dropped off in the lot the night Darry hit me when Johnny said sometimes he just wanted to kill himself, then taking it back when I told him he couldn't, he just couldn't. Now, looking back, it seems like he might have just recanted for my sake. It's a bittersweet thought that he might have been put out of his misery with this happening, but then I have to remind myself that he's a boy, not some dog needing to be put down._

_ When the Soc's finally noticed that Johnny wasn't moving or even breathing anymore, they panicked. I almost got away while their attention was focused on him, but he was tripped and held to the ground while they screamed at me hoarsely to shut up, not to move or they'd kill me, too, which was enough to still my body but make my heart beat three times faster. I stared over to the dark lump on the ground, crying. I couldn't believe it. This was all my fault. If I had just…_

_ I think I will skip ahead. All the time, I get caught up in these 'ifs' in my head, but I can't bear to put them down on paper. Long story short, they panicked and argued viciously over what to do with me, with both of us… Bob took the lead and made a plan. He had an uncle who used to own a house in Windrixville until a tornado took it. The land still belonged to him, but he was too old now to ever go back and rebuild his house. _

_That is the land where my storm shelter is, the one I'm in, I mean. It's barren and deserted. I screamed for hours straight the first night we were locked down here until I'd gone hoarse, but no one heard me._

_ It makes me sick; it does, but I should let you know. Johnny is here with me._

…

**Thanks for reading, all feedback is very much appreciated. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

DARRY'S POV

They took me to a small town called Windrixville to identify the body. I always thought if they had a lead, I would have a gut feeling telling me whether or not it was him, but there was nothing but grim hope egging me on. I honestly wasn't sure what I was hoping for, though. I wanted answers, sure, but if he could still be alive and I not know it, I would prefer that. I just want him to be alive, if not, then dead. Nowhere in between, suffering. At least if we found his body, we could rest, could feel like we aren't trying to forget about someone who is still alive, abandoning someone who is still waiting for us.

I expect them to take me to a lake or a forest where he had been dumped but hidden, but we ended up at a seemingly mundane field. We walked and walked until I was wondering where to exactly since there were no police markers or tape in sight. Finally, the cop stopped. I looked around expectantly. He sighed and asked me gruffly in what I perceived as an unusually sympathetic voice for him, "You ready, son?" I nodded mutely.

He looked to his left and pushed back the tall grass. To the side, I see a chain and padlock that had been broken off, presumably by the police. With a grunt, he began to pull on something. There was a lump in my throat, and I grabbed the other door handle and yanked. They both swung open, and the moment I peered into the small room which flooded out dust mites and damp, hot air, a sob escaped and I turned around in revulsion and threw up. I felt tears running down my face and nodded, wiping my face.

"That's- that's him," I choked out. Glancing back at him, I wanted to cry all over again. Without thinking, I slid into the storm shelter, wincing at the strong, foul smell that assaulted me immediately. I clamped my hand tightly over my mouth which was quivering and tense, unsuccessfully trying to keep from falling apart.

He was against the far wall, curled up. It was him, but it didn't look like it anymore. He seemed like some kind of too-realistic doll left out in the yard to be rained and snowed on. I didn't look long enough because I couldn't care less for details, knowing that my brother had suffered being enough to make my heart nearly sputter and my knees nearly give out, but when I turned my head, I noticed on the opposite side of the small room was a lump covered with an old, dusty quilt. Slowly, I walked over and lifted a corner.

I dropped it the moment I could tell it was Johnny and stumbled out of the shelter, unable to look back, collapsed on my hands and knees, and dry heaved more and more in a way that made me feel even sicker with every convulsion. They had both been here dying all those nights I sat by the phone waiting for more information from the police.

They had been here every here every time Soda asked what I thought happened or cried his eyes out in the bed that he slept in alone, now. They had been here when Sandy left and we had a rumble and I broke my hand and Dally got shot. They had been here the whole time, and we didn't even know it.

**...**

**Thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

**...**

SODA POV

Darry came home after following the lead and I was in the living room just waiting for him. I tried not to get my hopes up, forcing the reality down my throat, but I found my knee bouncing nervously in anticipation. At the same time, I wanted to hold onto this last moment which could be the last one I go without knowing for sure whether he is horribly injured or still missing, yet again. Darry's truck pulled up, and the engine cut off with a sort of finality. When he walked in the door, I stood, but he only nodded at me soberly. My heart stopped mid-beat, and I just lost it.

I began to cry grossly with my whole body shaking and my throat and mouth tumbling and fumbling trying to find words or silence through the sobs shuttering through me. My nose ran profusely and my body felt awkward, as I had nothing to do with it, frozen in the shock, frozen in my tragic agony. He sat on the couch next to me and laid a hand on my back. I didn't stop bawling for half an hour, and he just stayed there, eyes wet and red, though I guessed he had already had his break down. I wondered almost defensively how he could have stopped crying, ever. I didn't think I would be able to.

"Where?" I asked hoarsely, my voice coming out odd and distorted.

"In a storm shelter, a mile or two into a field. No house or nothin'. They're looking for the guy who owns the land tomorrow to see if they can link him to them."

"Both of them?" Darry's face flickered darkly.

"He said it looked like Johnny died far before Pony, must not have lived through all the blood loss, since it looked like they'd gotten a beating." His voice was steady, but it was the voice he used when he knew he was about to lose it. I just needed to know one more thing before I gave him a break. I had to know or I would never work up the nerve to ask again.

"Did he suffer, Darry?" His mouth formed a tight, painful line and his eyes dropped from mine.

I cried myself to sleep in the middle of the cold bed that night, clutching my little brother's pillow which had lost its smell after being drowned in so much of my wet heartache. I used to lay here for him, to keep his nightmares away, and I had imagined his first night back countless times, wondering how I would ever manage to let him out of my arms again, but now I faced the problem I had pushed away again and again. I was alone. Even the comfort of still having Darry across the hall was overwhelmed by the fact that he was all I had left. His presence illuminated everyone else's absence. From five to two, our family went. From seven to four, our gang went. Sandy is gone. Johnny, Dally, Ponyboy, Mom, and Dad. Gone.

It was less than a year.

I'm seventeen now.

Not even an adult, and I've lost more than half the people I've ever loved.

The tears poured faster, and I let them soak into the pillow which was uncomfortably damp against my face, but I wonder if that is how Pony felt. Alone. Uncomfortable, damp and dank with emptiness that flung his insides wrong side out like an angry bull.

My little brother is dead.

My little brother is dead.

I wonder; if I fall asleep now, will I wake up to everything normal?

That's what Ponyboy would wonder. His head was always in the clouds, always dreaming.

Could dead people dream? I hoped not. If you can dream, you can have nightmares, only no one is there to hold you until you are okay again.

As I finally fell off the edge of consciousness, I came upon the decision that dead people must be able to dream because there in my sleep I saw my parents walking, smiling, looking down at a young Ponyboy whom they swung back and forth between them by his small hands. Dead people can dream, but dead people don't have nightmares. They lived them already.

My little brother is dead…

Ponyboy is dead.

...

**Favorites, Follows, and Reviews are always appreciated, and thanks a lot to those who did that to the previous chapters!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

**...**

_ Journal Entry 2_

_ I'm sorry I left you hanging there. I know I hate cliffhangers when I'm reading books, but this isn't a book. This is my life, his life, and I just couldn't continue. It was too much all at once, I guess, but I'm back now because I'm starting to lose hope that anyone will ever find me._

_ Johnny… even though I know it isn't him in the body anymore, it sounds even worse, even more wrong to call it 'the body', as if I am pretending I don't know who it belonged to or what kind of life it led. As if it wasn't my dead best friend rotting in the corner of the small space._

_ Bugs have taken presence in the shelter with us, edging in on Johnny's flesh which I profusely tried to stop, shooing them away until I realized I couldn't do it forever and eventually gave up, feeling sick to my stomach and trying to ignore it. If it wasn't below freezing outside, the bugs wouldn't be a problem, but I think they were coming in, in attempt to escape the bitter cold, especially if it is windy. They aren't having much luck, though. I'm a living Popsicle in here._

_There were three quilts in the shelter as well as candles which I foolishly used up but later came to find comfort in, since the darkness left room for my imagination to run away to happier places once night fell. What I did not learn to appreciate was the lack of that small extra heat source which actually did more than I had ever known a single flame to do._

_Once the candles were melted away, all that was left was the quilts to keep made warm. One is covering Johnny. Two lay over me, but they are still not enough when my empty stomach and stillness are piggybacking on the temperature. There is some jarred, preserved food down here but not a whole lot. It worries me, the decision I have to make between trying not to starve myself to death and trying not to waste any more food than necessary._

_ I tell myself I should eat when I am hungry to keep my strength up, since my brothers will find me any day now, but, still, my mind whispers to me of the not-so-unlikely possibility that I might be stuck here forever, that I might be another skeleton lying beside Johnny, for the rest of eternity._

_ On this trail of thought, I imagine two little boys, like ourselves, out exploring years from now. They're happy and excitable, running through the field searching for bugs and snakes when they stumble upon two doors in the ground which have seemingly sprouted out from nowhere. They both have to tug in unison with all their combined bodyweight to inch it open bit by bit, but when they do, they creep in immediately, giggling and speaking aloud of buried treasure and magic tunnels. They find us, our crumpling remains and my head goes no further, as I am unsure of whether they would cry, scream, or stare in childish, naïve awe._

_ I remember when we were like that. I remember being innocent and at constant play without worries. I remember cowering behind my brothers at the presence of Dallas Winston and sitting on the counter while my mother baked, humming a tune and swatting my hand gently as I attempted to swipe a lick of raw cake mix with my finger. I remember my father laughing, swinging each of us, his boys, by our arms, one by one as we squealed in delight while he chuckled heartily and my mother fretted. I remember Steve letting me play hide and go seek with he and Soda for the first time, before he realized he didn't like me, and I remember playing tag in the yard with Two-Bit and Johnny who was still quiet, still timid, but didn't jump at every touch and who was still able to play tag without flinching._

_ It's not like that anymore._

_ When you grow up, there is no tag football. There are no unbreakable rules. The bad guy escapes and the good guy drowns in the guilt. Soc's don't stay on their side of the playground. Soc's don't play fair. Soc's pull blades. Soc's don't stop punching when greasers stop fighting back. They pummel away until all that is left is a bruised, bloody, swollen carcass lifeless and limp on the gritty, concrete ground._

_ I miss my brothers. I miss the gang. I like to make believe that I still have faith that I will be saved, but I'm starting to lose hope that anyone will ever find me…_

_ Johnny…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

**...**

_Darry POV, dream_

_ Ponyboy tilted his head when he saw us. "Why didn't you come after me," he asked with a sob. I was so cold…" he trailed off. "So cold," he seemed to drift for a moment before letting his eyes creep back up to meet mine individually. It scared me and gave me that feeling of panic and helplessness you get when you've been caught in a bad situation with no way to explain without making it even worse. He was shaking now as he held a weak arm towards me as if he wanted to touch me but didn't have the strength. Swallowing my fear, I took a step towards him._

_ "Don't!" he screeched suddenly, his fingers splaying widely apart and his green eyes shooting open widely, making my heart jump through my chest. I stumble back quickly, almost losing my footing. "Don't you touch me," he whispered hoarsely before he began to cry, bowing his head and wrapping his arms around himself. A cloud of white appeared in front of his mouth, and I almost thought it was cigarette smoke until I noticed that the tears on his face had frozen in place, and his eyes and nose and fingers all looked blue. "So cold," he repeated. It was then that I noticed all the rest of the gang had vanished, leaving me alone to face my brother._

_ His eyes flickered behind me. I did a double take over my shoulder to try and see what he was seeing. He let out a blood curdling scream as he shrank in on himself like he was trying to hide from something. His head shot to his left, and I looked immediately, but there was nothing there._

_ "Ponyboy, what is it?" I demanded desperately, my voice thick. I raised my voice and repeated, "What is it?" He wasn't looking at me. I'd lost him. Tears upon tears froze on the expanse of his face and he clawed to pry them off of his skin, leaving pink, raw, teardrop shaped marks littering his cheeks. As if that wasn't enough, his hair began to darken and lay flat on his head exactly as if water was being poured over him except there wasn't any in sight. It too froze and I will be forever haunted by the sight of his pale, white skin, his shaking form, the frost developing on his eyebrows and strands of hair. His eyes were wild, tortured. I didn't want to admit it, but he looked insane._

_ Then his eyes settle right above my head._

_ "T-t-tired, Darry. I'm s-so tired." Gears turned in my head and I said urgently, "No, Ponyboy, you can't go to sleep. Stay awake, Little Buddy, come on." If I could have, I would have gone over and patted his face to wake him up, but I knew it would be too good to be true. Like clockwork, his eyes slowly began to droop, his chin hitting his chest a couple times before shooting back up instinctively. The more he fought it, the more ragged his breathing became. It got more and more shallow until he was wheezing lightly, eyes nearly crossed from the effort. He sputtered out a weak cough, then a string of them that jerked his body to and fro like it was nothing. Cruel, red blood drew its mark down his contrastingly colorless chin from his mouth._

_ He didn't seem to notice._

_ "It's okay, Pony." I hated myself for saying it. He furrowed his eyebrows as if hearing but not believing my words. "It's alright. Just let go." At that moment, I wanted to take it all back, but when not even a second later, a look of peace fell upon his face as he let himself rest, I knew I had done what I had to do. I was about to turn around and leave him there in his peace when he opened his eyes again, completely this time._

_ "Mom?" I heard a gentle 'shhh' like the wind blowing softly on a warm autumn day as the browned leaves shuffled across the pavement. He smiled thankfully and his whole body warmed, returning to its normal color. The bags under his eyes were gone, his eyes normal, sane, and his whole body filled out with the layer of muscle and fat he had lost. His eyes fluttered shut again and he whispered it with that same look of pure relief, "Mom..."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

**...**

Journal Entry 19

If I have a last word to say, I want to be sane to say it. These are my last words, these journal entries. And now at my death bed, unsure of whether my fighting to survive was a brave, strong feat in a struggle against death, delaying it for so long, or whether it was a piteous waste of time and energy in which I only tortured myself in the end, I'm left with nothing left to say because anything I could complain about, I've exhausted, anything in depth, I'm too weak to write, any secrets to confess… I have none. So this is it. I'm sorry. I love you. So Much. Goodbye.

…

**Police Report:**

**Name:** _Ponyboy Michael Curtis_

**Age on Day of Report:** _14_

**Date of Birth:** _July 22, 1951_

**Weight on Day of Report:** _74.9 lbs_

**Height on Day of Report:** _5'4"_

**Hair Color on Day of Report:** _Brown_

**Eye Color:** _Green-Gray_

**Biological Parents:** _Darrel Shane Sr. and Laura Anne Curtis_

**Guardian at Time of Event:** _Darrel Shane Curtis Jr._

**Nature of Report:** _Decease_

**Cause of Death:** _Unknown; Multiple Possible Causes- malnutrition, hypothermia, shock, mental deterioration, and dehydration._

**Location:** _Storm Shelter, Field in Possession of David Lloyd Sheldon, Windrixville, OK_

**Time and Date:** _Unknown. Estimated late October to Mid November 1966_

**Evidence: **_Three Journal Entries left(#13045-48, enclosed, others unreadable due to water damage, switchblade(#13049), further evidence currently being found and examined but not necessary for case._

**Notes:** _According to previous report of witness Randy Anderson, Curtis and Johnny Cade were in fist fight with Bob Sheldon, Randy Adderson, and other unnamed friends. Knife was brought out by Cade who stabbed and killed Sheldon in defense of Curtis who was being held under water of fountain in park. Another friend of his stabbed Cade back. Anderson and friends disposed of Cade and Curtis in abandoned storm shelter on Sheldon's grandfather's property. Left them there and came back to clean up without admitting to the crime until few days after bodies were discovered by police._

**Report Written By: **_Officer Daniel Sears_

**Report Approved By: **_Sheriff Michael Barnes_


End file.
